


The Kingpin

by AgentInfinity



Series: The Kingpin [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentInfinity/pseuds/AgentInfinity
Summary: The newest recruit has a rocky entrance into the crew.
Series: The Kingpin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143176
Kudos: 11





	The Kingpin

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be writing about financial statements, and then this happened. This is a continuation from ' You Should See Me in a Crown' featuring an original narrator.

Though I’d never show it, I feel very out of place standing in the sleek elevator staring at the guy who’d brought me here. It’s a routine practice for me to look like I belong no matter where I am, to blend and shift into the background, unnoticed and ignored. It’s an art that has to be honed and practiced. In the circles I frequent for my job, if you blend too much, you stand out for being too ordinary, but if you’re too ostentatious, everyone takes note of you and how they can exploit you.

Either is bad form for a cat burglar.

I am one of the best, borne out of a shitty childhood in the worst part of the worst city in the northeast. Everyone has their tragic backstories, but I like to think that I turned mine around.

Well, until recently. A spate of bad luck had me scrambling for a few months. Bad associations from back when I was getting started and was still a little stupid and very reckless had started my decline, quickly accelerated by allies turned foes for bigger payouts.

I can’t blame them, honestly. That’s just the business. Too much sentiment, and you end up dead.

So, I ran. Packed up the important bits, took the cash out of my little boltholes around the city, and disappeared. Or attempted to. Mostly, I tried to stay two steps ahead of the people looking for me and managed about a half step at best. After months of running, though, I had managed to take out the worst of the goons after me and ended up on the other coast. A few more months found me with enough work to stay afloat and not go hungry. A priceless painting here, some long lost jewels there. Documents, art, evidence. It’s all the same. Work the problem, make a plan, stick to the plan, have back up plans.

This had worked well for me until a few weeks ago. I was contacted by a woman clearly using a new alias about a simple statuette grab. Easy job, 5k for my troubles. She called me again a week later about a bigger job. Twenty thousand if I could get into a safe in the basement of some guy’s house and steal some documents without looking at them.

I could, so I did. It was an easy job, and my gut told me that it was too easy for the payout, but with my supplies dwindling, I didn’t have many other prospects and definitely not ones as lucrative as this one. I left them at the drop point yesterday, and had expected the second half of my payment in my account by last night. Instead, I got a message that someone would pick me up this morning for a meeting, and that I’d get the rest of my money then. On my initial job offer from this woman, I had looked her up. It was clearly a new alias as there was nothing to be found about her. No tracks, no online presence, nothing. She also didn’t seem to care that I knew this.

Looking back at the circumstances, I realized that I’d been very stupid. Ignored my gut in hopes of a good payday. That’s the kind of thing that gets you killed. Or kidnapped.

Back to the matter at hand.

I hadn’t waited for the meeting. I grabbed my shit (again) and hopped a bus headed north. If I could get over the border, maybe it would finally be too much trouble to find me. A bus switch got me nabbed in the bathroom and shoved in the back of a very expensive car. We drove through the night back into the city. My hands had been zip-cuffed behind me, but I had slipped them quickly, working my thumb raw to get it loose and then slipping my whole left hand out. I’d gone after the passenger instead of the driver as I was unbuckled and the driver would still have to focus on driving instead of stopping me. I looped the cuffs around his throat, grabbed the open one with my free hand, and pulled with my knees in the back of the seat. A crack that I could hear and feel where my hands were against his neck had him slumping in his seat. The driver had pulled over by this time, not very concerned about his dead associate, and, seeming more put out than concerned, whipped me across the temple with his gun.

When I woke up, head throbbing and blood matted in my hair, we were pulling into an underground garage.

All three of us.

“Good morning, love.” The pain in my head and slight nausea are all but gone in my shock as I stare down the man whose neck I had broken. No bruises or broken skin mar his neck, and he doesn’t seem injured in the least, if maybe a bit rumpled from the long car ride. The driver pulls me out of the backseat by my jacket and cuffs me again, this time with my arms in front of me. I don’t say a word, trying to keep my composure as he marches me to a private elevator in the corner and shoves me inside. The previously dead guy gets in with me, but the other just hits the “PH” button and steps back out with a salute and a smirk.

The threat of death is ever present in my line of work, but it still doesn’t mean I’ve made my peace with it. I’ve met several people who are just fine with it hanging over their heads. “When it’s my time, it’s my time. You don’t get into this line of work for the promise of a long lifespan,” one of them told me the first time I’d been caught and nearly shot. She had died in a job gone wrong less than a year later. I don’t see myself ever being that okay about it.

“No need to look so serious, darling. You’re just going to have a conversation and get the rest of your money.” The guy has an English accent, but some of his vowels are weird. Like, he is English but maybe was raised in a different area, or by someone with some other type of accent.

“In my experience, when you’re promised payment and then those people kidnap you for _’a conversation’_ , it’s not a conversation you want to have.” Luckily, my head is clearing a bit, and I am able to shove my nerves down and concentrate. The garage had been full of expensive cars, but I can’t count on them not having GPS if I am even able to get one started. Cameras and lights line the area, so sneaking wouldn’t be an option. I’ll have to find a different way out once we get there. There are only five buttons on the panel--door open, door close, emergency, 'G,' and the aforementioned ‘PH.’ So this is a private elevator accessing a private garage in a private building with cameras everywhere.

Awesome.

“I know it sounds like bullshit, but it’s not. You _want_ to take this meeting,” he insists.

“I don’t even know you. How am I supposed to trust you?” I ask. I don’t say, _’And I’m pretty sure I killed you last night,’_ because I don’t want to open that can of worms. Maybe I just cut off the blood flow enough to put him down for a few minutes. Maybe the ‘pop’ I felt was something in the car seat.

Maybe I’m losing my mind.

“My name is Gavin. I’m known by a different name around here, though.”

“What is it?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.

“Eh, I don’t like to brag.” I can’t stop myself rolling my eyes at him. He laughs, his stance relaxed and not at all ready for me to go after him.

So, I do. I brace myself against the back wall of the elevator and kick him in the stomach hard enough for the air to woosh out of his mouth as he crashes backward into the panel. He recovers quickly, but I’m already on him, kneeing him in the face and, as the momentum carries his head upward, catching him in the temple with my elbow.

“Bloody hell, love,” he curses, spitting blood and blocking my next kick with his shoulder, leaning down slightly and then pushing my leg backward. Without my arms for balance, I topple over and smack the back of my head on the floor. I see stars for a few seconds, but Gavin doesn’t move for me. He just stands by the doors rubbing the side of his head and muttering in a language I don’t recognize.

“Fuck,” I sigh. I struggle to my feet, and he moves to help me up, immediately blocking my knee from getting him in the crotch. I don’t know how much patience he has, but it must be a saintly amount.

“Listen, I could fight with you all day, but even if I couldn’t, there’s nowhere for you to go once those doors open. You thought you could leverage me against them once we reach the top? Won’t work.”

“Do they not care about you?” He laughs again, but keeps his guard up.

“Quite the opposite, but I can hold my own. I got a few years on you, so don’t think that you can get one over on me.”

“You’re bleeding aren’t you?” I say, my sense of self-preservation trumped by irritation at Gavin’s smugness. He nods.

“That’s fair. But they’re just flesh wounds. I bet they’ll be gone before you know it.” Something about that is funny to him, and he smiles again.

“But in the car, that wasn’t a flesh wound,” I say quietly. Clues are clicking together in my head. A crew in the city that no one dared to mess with, batshit crazy and _seemingly immortal._ People who swear they’ve seen members go down but not stay down. Gavin doesn’t answer my not question.

I’m staring at the floor when I realize where I am. The elevator dings before I can regain my calm. My heart is thumping wildly, but my legs allow me to be led out of the elevator and into a common room with couches and a giant TV. A bar is set up along one side, and the west-facing wall is nothing but windows and a glass door that leads to a balcony. We turn left and head down a hallway, my treacherous feet taking me closer and closer to what I’m sure is death.

But what else am I to do? I don’t have any other options at the moment.

The room I’m led into is full of books, comfy-looking couches, and an impressive dark wood desk. Even more impressive is the woman sitting behind it. She looks up and nods at a chair facing the desk, appraising eyes raking over me and making me feel bare. I straighten my back and sit as neatly as possible in the indicated chair. Gavin plops himself down in the one next to me, relaxed and smirking. The woman closes her laptop and slides it out of the way, quietly looking over Gavin with an unreadable expression before turning her eyes on me.

For a long moment, she does nothing but search my face. Her eyes rove over the blood caked on my skin and in my hair, my expression, my clothing and cuffed wrists. She gets up and comes around the desk. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, high and tight, making her face look severe and sharply angled. Her makeup is impeccable and her lips are perfectly shaped in red lipstick. The suit she wears is pinstriped and tailored to her. I have never felt more out of my league.

I run with people on the level of those who work for the people who work for the people who answer to people like her. She pulls a knife from behind her back, and I flinch backward, but she only cuts through the cuffs, her fingers sliding across the faint marks on my wrists. She sets the knife and the remains of the cuffs down on her desk and leans against the front of it, her heels helping her to tower over me with the serene demeanor of someone who is clearly the top of the food chain here.

“I’m Fiona. It’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, and I shake it, firmly like I’m here for a business deal and not to be murdered.

“Likewise,” I say quietly.

“Up front, I’d like to inform you that you aren’t in danger here. If you hear what I have to say, and would like to leave after, you will be taken back home and not bothered by us again. The rest of your payment for your last job is already in your account. Your bag with your belongings will be returned to you after this meeting as well.” I nod, at a loss as to what is happening. 

“We would like to offer you a job in the crew. We are in need of an associate with your skills. Our member who historically did work of your caliber is moving up in the ranks and will be needing assistance in order to complete his new job duties.” Well, if this is going to be a job interview on the surface, I guess I can play along.

“What would this position look like?”

“You’d be given any resources necessary to complete your jobs, payment for each job on top of a retainer fee, and the option to stay in one of the buildings we own. They’re secure and our people are well taken care of.”

“And what’s the catch for this dream job?”

“Well, you would not be permitted to take outside jobs except for extenuating circumstances which would have to be cleared with me or someone else over operations. You would not speak of the particulars of your tasks to outsiders or those beneath your paygrade. I’m sure you can guess the consequences.” Gavin snorts, and Fiona fixes him with a look so cold I’m surprised that he isn’t frozen on the spot. He only rolls his eyes at her, though, completely unfazed.

“But what’s the catch? My first born? My soul? I have to murder my family to prove devotion to you?” I don’t know where the confidence comes from, but at this point, I’m too exhausted to hold onto the fear.

“You don’t have a family. In fact, you have very few people who even know you exist.” She crosses her arms and assesses my face as I react to her knowing this.

“Fair. So you’ve done your homework.”

“We’ve done more than that. You had some very bad people planning some very bad things for you. Despicable people capable of despicable things.” Fuck.

“So I either work for you or get handed off to them?” She wrinkles up her nose and looks offended.

“No, I told you, no matter your answer, no harm would come to you, and I don’t lie. Those people won’t be bothering you anymore. They won’t be bothering anyone anymore. Their entire organization has ceased to exist as of two weeks ago.”

“What the fuck?” I ask because, really. _What the fuck?_

“Look, there’s a reason we want you. You’re one of the best at what you do, but we couldn’t bring you on if you were going to bring unwanted attention onto us. So we fixed that, gave you some preliminary jobs, and vetted you.”

“I am not that great.”

“You broke into a Viking biometric vault in less than four minutes undetected.”

“Okay, I did do that.” I allow myself a little smile. Fiona and Gavin both smile back at me.

“See? Like I said. There’s a reason we want you to work with us.”

“I’m guessing this is a now or never type situation. Like, there isn’t a ‘go home and think on it’ option, right?” Fiona purses her lips together and shrugs with one shoulder.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll give you twenty-four hours.” She sits back down at her desk and taps out a message on her phone. “Trevor is on his way up to take you home. He’ll give you a burner phone for you to contact us. Call us either way and let us know your answer tomorrow morning.”

“Who’s Trevor?” I ask since she’s speaking to me like I should know him.

“The other guy who was sent out with Gavin to retrieve you.”

“Oh. The one who knocked me out. He didn’t introduce himself.” The last twelve hours have been so goddamn surreal. Fiona rolls her eyes and settles her gaze on Gavin. She says something in rapid French to which he replies with a simple, “Elle m’a tué.”

It’s been a long time since I took a French class, considering I dropped out of school at fifteen, but I’m pretty sure he just said that I killed him.

Fiona raises her eyebrows and says something else, again, too quick for me to catch. Gavin spares me a glance as I try to look as confused as possible, but something in his face tells me that he suspects that I understood at least a little of their short exchange. He switches languages to something that could be Italian. It's unfamiliar no matter what it is. Gavin's tongue curls around the words easier than English or French, which solves the earlier mystery of his accent.

I don’t mention that I understand any French. A few seconds later Trevor knocks and opens the door.

Fiona nods at me, and I take that as my cue to get up. 

"Tomorrow morning by ten. We'll talk more after that." I follow Trevor out of the room and try to wrap my brain around what just happened. I was just recruited to the Fake AH Crew by the Kingpin. I step back into the elevator and Trevor presses the button for the garage. He gives me a scrutinizing look and simply smiles when I catch him. 

"So, are you going to take over for me as the resident procurer of things?" Ah, so Trevor was the former thief.

"What kind of things are you going to be doing now?" I counter. 

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that. I can't tell you anything until you're a member of the crew, you know." His face is pleasant, but there’s more behind his eyes than the intention of simple small talk.

“You say that like I’m going to say yes.” I don’t know this man, but he seems like he’s mastered the chameleon charm. Like he can change into whoever he wants to be until you give him everything he wants.

I recognize it because I have it too. When I want to use it.

“Why wouldn’t you? You must know our reputation. People would kill to get in with us. People _have_ killed to get in with us. They’ve done worse than that just to get our attention.”

I don’t ask what _worse_ is. I don’t want to know. I’ve lived in this life for a long time, but I’ve tried to keep myself out of situations where I have to see the worst that humanity has to offer. I try to keep myself from becoming that too.

At the end of the day, I still want to be recognizable to myself.

I don’t say this to Trevor. I’m not sure I want him to be able to see into my mind more than it seems he already can.

“Because people do whatever you mean by ‘worse’ to get your attention. I’m no saint, but I have lines that I won’t cross. And a crew like yours, well. I can’t imagine that those lines won’t be challenged. And I assume that I’ll be forced over them.” All he does is smile that perfect, glinting smile that doesn’t match the intelligence in his eyes.

“I didn’t say that we let them in, did I?” he responds. The elevator dings, and he leads me to another vehicle. Black and nondescript again, but the upholstery is clean of blood. This time he opens the passenger door for me instead of throwing me into the backseat, cuffed and face down.

I don’t have to tell him how to get to my apartment. He drives there like he does it all the time. Maybe he does. I don’t know how long I’ve been on their radar. Since I arrived in Los Santos? Before that? A few blocks away, he sighs and lets a little of his charming veneer drop. I can’t tell if it’s genuine or on purpose, but I have to fight the way my brain wants to put me at ease with him because of it.

“Look, we’re doing some restructuring. I don’t know how much you know about us, but the former Kingpin stepped down along with our resident pilot and second in command. Fiona took over as our new leader, and I’m stepping up to be her second. We work as a family. We give a shit whether our family is taken care of or not.” He pulls up outside my building and idles the car, turning to look at me directly.

“Do some research, look us up. See the things we’ve done for the city. Ask around. See if you can find a single operation we’ve done since we took over where we’ve put civilians directly in the line of fire. I’m not saying there aren’t ever casualties or that there never will be. But we do our best to take care of our city and our people. The other candidates we vetted for this job either weren’t as good as you or weren’t right for us. There’s your why.”

He hits the unlock button and reaches back to grab my backpack out of the backseat. I take it and open the door.

“What other crew would have done so much to keep you safe and before you even agreed to join us?”

I lean back into the car and take the burner phone he hands me. 

“You pistol-whipped me in the head.”

“Yeah, but we’re criminals.” His smile is back. “We have different standards.”

***  
When Trevor returns, he heads back to Fiona’s office to find her with her suit jacket off and her sleeves rolled up. Gavin has cleaned off the blood from earlier and is stretched out on one of the couches scrolling through something on his phone.

“So, what do you think?” Fiona asks, lifting a glass to her lips and taking a sip of something rich and amber. Trevor sinks down into the chair their new prospect was sitting in earlier.

“I think she’s in. She’s got a moral code that she’s afraid we’ll make her break, but I gave her some things to think about. I told her to look us up. Honestly, I don’t think she’s paid us much mind beyond trying to avoid us in lieu of staying under the radar.” Gavin snorts.

“Well, can’t really blame her, can you? The sort of people after her were some of the nastiest we’ve seen in a long time.” Fiona taps her fingernail against her glass and thinks.

“Do you think she suspects that she’s immortal?”

“No, but she suspects something about me.” Gavin sits up and rubs his fingers through his hair. “She felt my neck break in the car. She mentioned killing me in the elevator, but I’m not sure she meant to say it out loud.” Fiona just hums thoughtfully. The job is starting to show in her eyes. It hasn’t been that long since Geoff left and named her as his successor, but it’s been a rough year. People thought that Geoff and Jack leaving meant a power vacuum and tried their luck against them. No one came close to unseating them, but it had been a logistical nightmare to swat so many different crews down at the same time.

"Also, I think we should stick to Italian if there are any other private conversations. I think she might understand French. At least a little." Fiona nods and continues to drink. 

“How long should we wait to tell her?” she asks finally. Trevor stands to pour himself a drink from the cart in the corner and then turns to consider their options.

“She went from on the run for nearly a year to laying low in a new city and trying to survive for the next five months. Let her join us, give her some time, and hopefully we can do it when she’s settled. If life will go according to plan for once.” Fiona nods and finishes her drink in one gulp.

 _Day drinking must come with this job,_ Trevor thinks, ruefully. Gavin stands and stretches before heading for the door.

“Well, I’ve got a supply meeting uptown to get to. I’ll see you later to plan for tomorrow morning, Fi. Later, Treyco.” Trevor salutes him with his glass.

“Caio, Gav,” Fiona calls, unrolling her sleeves and buttoning them back. “I’ve got to get downstairs. Jeremy and Ify are back with the guy who works for the O'Neil's." 

"Well, have fun with that. I gotta run to the airfield to put out a logistics fire."

"I'd rather do the info retrieval," Fiona says, scrunching up her face. Trevor smirks as he heads out the door. 

“That’s your choice, boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I had a great time writing this character and seeing the Fakes through a different lens. Let me know if you liked this in the comments or come talk to me on Tumblr [here](http://missxmolotov.tumblr.com). 💜


End file.
